


the woods are lovely, dark and deep

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land far away, a land a world from her own, a woman runs through the woods. The branches tear at her white skirts, the roots catch her elegant shoes, and the forest makes it easier for her to escape into the dark depths, away from an unforgiving sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the woods are lovely, dark and deep

**Author's Note:**

> au, like reallllly au. um, hopefully it still works. 
> 
> note: there is some anti-downworlder/racism/dehumanization in two of the shadowhunter/sun children's folk tales, these are the first two italic sections if you wanna skip that  
> & title from frost's stopping by woods on a snowy evening
> 
> ([tumblr \o/](http://parkwest.tumblr.com/))

In a land far away, a land a world from her own, a woman runs through the woods. The branches tear at her white skirts, the roots catch her elegant shoes, and the forest makes it easier for her to escape into the dark depths, away from an unforgiving sun. 

Torn bits of lace are left in her wake, and the birds erase her trail, their nests all the prettier for it. She runs until her once fanciful dress is a mere slip, and her feet are bare, dirt packed beneath them. They are whole, without a single scratch, and Jocelyn sits upon a rock, tired and sure and safe. 

The legends were true. 

(Well, the good ones.)

.

_The forest holds no people, only beasts. Those that live in the darkness, that evade any fight. Those that have no higher purpose, that only exist to chase after their hunger and selfish desires._

_Banishment is a worse fate than death, fear it. For not even death will follow you past those too-green leaves, an everlasting misery in the shadows._

.

Alaric is the first that captures her scent, the one that finds her. She looks nothing like a wolf. It isn't that she's fragile like the others he's seen before, it's the almost glow beneath her skin that makes him think she could never stay truly hidden. 

“Hello, I'm Jocelyn.” 

Alaric smiles, stepping into the clearing. “My name is Alaric. I thought your people wore shoes?” 

Her nose crinkles up, toes wiggling in the dirt. “They were hobbles.” 

“We shall have to get you a new pair then. Perhaps with a dinner.” The words come out more matter of fact than flirtatious, and Alaric supposes that's okay for the time being. He doesn't even know if the King will grant her entry to their den, is dreaming far too far ahead, doesn't even know her yet. 

Her smile is soft and sharp all at once, “I would be honored.” 

.

_You must never go into the forest, never be lured there by a pretty false face. Even if the face is true, there is no fixing them, no way for them to coexist with us peacefully._

_Do you see now? An invasion is a kindness, like putting a rabid dog down. Do not weep for them my child, they were lost long ago._

.

Alaric feels like he slipped into a waking dream, only it lasts days instead of hours, starting when Luke says she is welcome to their home. 

The dream starts happy and odd, the three of them smiling. Luke is effortlessly charming, setting up a breakfast meeting once she's rested and in new clothes. Jocelyn blushes, a sudden slam, and Alaric's dream wanders away from his control. His King is smiling at her like she's something precious, and she's lit up from the inside more than ever, and Alaric isn't sure who he is more jealous of. Of how he came to care for the foreign maiden so quickly, but one does not question dreams. 

Not until they wake up. 

Luke takes her mornings, asking every question he can think of, while Alaric shows her new parts of the forest in the afternoon. She likes the caves best with the small bats that land on her shoulders, snuggle into her. They spend a night there with her new friends and each other for warmth, and Jocelyn's smile is just as bright as the rest of her.

She doesn't like the reflecting pool, but she _does_ like the future she sees: 

Luke is on a throne made of silver, Alaric has become the First Knight, and Jocelyn is a part-time queen, part-time artist. They all wear matching crowns of silver, though Luke's has black opals as well, dazzles at even the quickest of glances. There's a blurry child in a crib, a girl, she notices before the pool pulls her away. _Too soon_ , the waters murmur. 

(Jocelyn doesn't know what to do with her vision. Wants it, needs it perhaps, but finds herself tongue-tied when she thinks about the three of them.)

.

 _There were two sisters, the sun and the moon. Their children roamed the earth between them, always gravitating to their mother's lands._

_It did not take many generations for the children to forget their history, picking fights with long lost relatives. Those in the light developed weapons while those in the dark built defenses._

_The sun and the moon begged their children not to fight, but they had long since forgotten how to read the skies, learning how to read footprints instead. The light-walkers were deathly, aided with fire and ferocity and fear. They shed blood, enough blood that the sun herself hid behind her sister weeping for the lost souls and refusing to help her children. And the moon guided her children to a new forest grown to shelter them. It would drive away any that sought to harm her children, protectiveness in every blade of grass and tall, tall tree._

_('Why are you reading that kids' book Jocelyn? You are about to be married! A queen's head should not be filled with such frivolous and false things.')_

.

Luke finishes picking her brain over pancakes, and Jocelyn has never had such sweet blueberries. She tells him of her would-be husband's secondary plans, of fire and witchcraft and murder. His smile fades, but his confidence doesn't, patting the trunk of a nearby tree. 

“The goddess protects us.” 

She is allowed to silently sit in on strategy meetings, more to show the others that he trusts her than for any input. The forest trusting her should have been enough to quell any of the pack's doubts, but there are many young wolves, and Luke has bigger problems to deal with.

(Jocelyn finds herself speechless regardless. Luke seems to effortlessly weave plans before them, tactical and sound and brilliant. He'll save his people, she thinks, her stomach warming.) 

.

 _One day, a child of the sun, pure of heart, will enter the forest. She will give herself- mind, body, soul- to the children of the moon, and they will rise._

_An era of shadows, of peace, and the sun shall no longer hide her face._

.

“You did it,” Jocelyn whispers, awed. 

Alaric howls, the pack echoing, and Luke's smile is wider than ever. His hand claps Alaric's shoulder as he says, “The pack did.” 

And Luke kisses each of them, holding their hands as the new era begins.


End file.
